


Let there be Love

by YuMe89



Series: Choices We Make [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt, I Made Myself Cry, Other, Please Don't Hate Me, really I'm sorry this will hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuMe89/pseuds/YuMe89
Summary: Hey guys :)So, I normally have this headcanon, where God ships Aziraphale/Crowley...well, I wanted to try something else.I hope you liked it, there is more to come.Have a nice day/evening/night :)





	Let there be Love

Sitting on a rather plush leather couch in a sleek flat just on the outskirds of Soho, Aziraphale watched Crowley getting drunker and drunker. He knew it wasn't fair to sober up without his friend noticing, but he had his reasons.

"Ngh, ssstilll can't believe, how Sssatan just buggered off!", he laughed out loud, his wineglass never sloshing over, no matter how wild his gestures got, while talking. Or maybe Aziraphale just miracled it unsloshable, or something, it hadn't been an elaborate thought at the time.

Sipping from his own wine, he smile softly. Crowley had lost his shoes around the time, they opened the fifth bottle of red. His left foot dangled off the couch, his right was up on the backrest beside Aziraphales head, his arms had similar positions, chancing from time to time. The Angel had done him the favor of at least losing his jacket, otherwise, still clothed primley, sitting as straight as ever.

Suddenly there was motion to his left side, as Aziraphale had looked around the room, without responding to his demonic friend. Crowley had scrambled to his knees on the couch, sitting unbelievebly close to him, his glasses long lost on the ground beneath, he stared intendly at Aziraphale. As if he tried to dezipher a puzzle. 

"Are ye ev'n drunk?", he slurred, pointing at him with the wineglass at him, trying to focus his eyes on his friend. It seemed like an impossible task. Aziraphale stared right back at him. "Of course I am.", he answered, well, lied. The demon seemed to mull it over. "A'right!" and with that, he let himself fall back into his usual slouched position. Giggled even, but tried to muffle it. Aziraphale back hurt just from looking at him. And his vessel shouldn't even be able to transfer such feelings. 

He longed to be as drunk as his friend, he looked so happy. He watched him for a while, smiling fondly, then he looked around again. Something was different then before. Did Crowley rearrange his flat? Maybe he will ask him the next time.

The giggling, that never happened if you asked Crowley, had stopped. The Angel looked back to his companion. He had passed out, mouth slack, snoring softly, his limps sprawled in every direction. Aziraphale spotted the wineglass in his hand, in danger of falling, he miracled it on the table, as to not wake Crowley.

Knowing how quick he got cold, he was a serpent after all, he miracled a soft, warm blanket and draped it over the demon with care. As he stood over him, he pushed a single untamed strand of hair off Crowleys forehead. Snake eyes opened slightly at that and looked at him. "Hm...L've y'u...", he mumbled, barely regognizable. Aziraphale knew exactly what he had said, which was the reason, why he couldn't get drunk anymore. At least not around Crowley.

Come morning, his friend would have forgotten about this. Hopefully. The angel just smiled at him, as lovingly as he could muster. "Sleep well.", he whisperend. Golden eyes closed almosted instantly. 

Letting himself out of Crowleys apartment, he transported himself back to his bookshop within the blink of an eye. He didn't like this kind of transportation, but this time it was necessary.

Aziraphale walked through his bookshop, looking for a nice distraction. He found _Original Sin: A Cultural History_ by Alan Jacobs. It was rather new, a black paperback with a snake winding around a red apple. He couldn't remember when he had ordered such a book, or if a customer just switched this book with another. That had to be it. Still, he was curious and took the book with him to the back. He sat behind his desk, turning the light on and started reading.

The door to his bookshop openend, the sound of the bell above a stark contrast to the overall quietness. "Angel?", he heard Crowley in the other room. "Back here.", he said, looking up and out the window. It was the next day already and he hadn't even noticed. He miracled himself clean, even though he did prefer an extentive bath.

Aziraphale closed the book, faszinated, that it did in fact stop him from overthinking the whole night. The demon sauntered in and leaned into his personal space to take a look at the book infront of him. "Worth an all-nighter?", he asked and got a shrug in return. 

"Did it have to be a tartan blanket, or was that just your way of telling me I shouldn't drink so much?", Crowley wanted to know, grimacing, even the memory about waking covered in a unstylish tartan blanket, were unpleasent. "I rather do like tartan. I don't know why you're so obsessed with hating it.", Aziraphale said, standing up and wandering over to his loveseat. 

Crowley looked outraged. "Ob-Obsessed?? Are you kidding me? I am _not_ obsessed. You're obsessed.", he countered, sounding a bit petulant. "Seriously, if you knew anything about Sims, you'd just create a whole house out of tartan.", he rambled on.

"A...what? What's a Sim?"-"My point exactly, doesn't matter anyway."

With a slight "Urgh.", he draped himself over the lone chair across from Aziraphale. "Is it to early to drink?", Crowley wanted to know, not really meaning it though. 

"Yes.", was all the Angel said to that, remembering last night. He was a bit peckish, though. "How about lunch?" The demon untangled himself from the chair and nodded. "Where to?" Aziraphale seemed to think about it more serious than neccessary. "There is a new ethiopian restaurant down the street."

"If there's alcohol, I'm all in.", Crowley said, getting swatted by Aziraphale in an 'Oh you' fashion, he corrected himself quickley. "I meant coffee, of course."

And so the days turned to weeks, they had a new routine. Crowley getting plastered, Aziraphale pretending to do the same. The next day, they went out for lunch or dinner, or both. 

Until one day, Crowley just snapped, in the middle of a perfectly normal day. It rained, after all. "Do you think I just forget everything?", he said, waiting for Aziraphale to answer. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The demon had suddenly appeared in his bookshop, drenched and breathing heavy. As if he had been running around, now that was new.

"What are you accusing me exactly of doing?", Aziraphale asked in return, sorting his book into a shelf. Rearranging them, so they didn't follow any intrinsic order and making it almost impossible to be found by a customer looking for a specific book. He turned and looked at Crowley, for the first time, since he had stormed in.

"Oh dear, you're completely wet. You'll get cold soon.", he stated, snipping his finger and drying Crowley up. The sideeffect were a messy mop of auburn hair. Aziraphale had to suppress a smile.

"Don't play dumb, please Aziraphale, we both know you're much cleverer than that.", he sounded desperate, almost like he was hurting. And maybe he was, the Angel would certainly understand. 

"Did you think, I don't remember what happens, when I'm drunk?", he clarified. "And what exactly happened, while you were drunk? I don't recollect anything out of the ordinary.", Aziraphale sniffed, starting to put his books back again. Seemingly dismissing Crowley, who had non of it.

"Yeah, well, I must've told you on multiple occasions, that _I love you_ and you ignore me. I'm not a child, you can tell me you don't love me back and everything will be the same as before. But don't dismiss it, don't dismiss _me_ like that. I thought we were friends.", he ranted, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. It nearly broke Aziraphales heart.

"We are. Friends, that is. And I love you as a friend, but nothing more. I'm sorry.", he told him in a monotone and hollow voice, concentrating on the task before him. He had practised those words over and over again. Knowing the day would come, dreading it. He managed to sound steady enough, to be believable. 

Crowley was immobile, giving off non-commital words and nodding while doings so. To be aware of the possibility and saying he could take the truth, were one thing, reality was another. It hurt him more, than the Fall, or maybe he didn't remember it quite right anymore. No he was sure, not even plucking off his wings, would hurt as much as Aziraphales words just did.

"You don't need to apologize.", Crowley finally said, voice unusually deep and horase and the angel gulped unseen by him. "Do you want some tea?", the blond asked, finally glancing at Crowley and wishing he hadn't. He looked devastated. Not even a right hook sending him to the floor, would make him look as defeated as the angels words had. He wanted to take it back so badly.

"No...I-I guess I need to be alone for a while.", Crowley answered, already spinning on his heel. His hand hovered over the doorhandle. "Please don't call me, Aziraphale. You will know, when I'm feeling better.", and he left, not even waiting for the angels reply. Not that he would've been able to say anything, as he stood there, book in hand, staring with unshed tears at the void space, where Crowley had stood just mere seconds before.

Aziraphale threw the book across his small shop, nearly breaking a window. " **Why**?", he asked, looking up, not at the ceiling, but through it, adressing the only person, well, the only Ethereal being, that could force him to hurt his friend knowingly.

He went and locked the door. There was no way, he could confront a customer today, or tomorrow. He sat down and a memory came to mind, from months ago.

_"Aziraphale, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate.", a bright light shined down on him and he turned towards it. "Almighty?", he asked dumbfounded. He couldn't believe God would adress him personally ever again. Not after his flaming sword debacle._

_"Aziraphale, I know what is happening and I hope you know, it can't.", the voice said, piercing his very being._

_"I'm sorry, Almighty, I don't quite underst-"-"I know, you love Demon Crowley. It can't be.", She interrupted him and Aziraphale deflated._

_"B-But it surely can't be so bad, it's not like he loves me back.", he tried to lighten the situation by laughing. Knowing full well, that he was kidding nobody._

_"We both know that's not true.", God said, sounding final about it._

_Aziraphale looked around, feeling uneasy and looked back up. "But why is it so bad? Love can't be wrong..."_

_"There can be no Love between an Angel and a Demon. This would only bring chaos upon us. You are not to tell him, no matter what he says. If you do, you will Fall and Hell will not welcome you.", God explained._

_Aziraphale thought about it. "Maybe...they wouldn't be so mad...", he mused._

_"Aziraphale", a warning almost palpable in her voice. "If you Fall, I will take your Ability to Love away.", She threatened him._

_The Angel wasn't able to form word, so he nodded in understanding. He would lose either way, but as an angel, he could still Love from afar. He could be kind and a good friend. Nothing would change, life would went on like usual. Other than God obviously hating him. It would be best to stay oblivious. At least he wouldn't be wiped from existence._

_Then why was it, that he felt like dying inside?_

__

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys :)  
> So, I normally have this headcanon, where God ships Aziraphale/Crowley...well, I wanted to try something else.  
> I hope you liked it, there is more to come.  
> Have a nice day/evening/night :)


End file.
